


Breakeven

by Wand_of_Thunder



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Depressing, F/M, Hospitals, Yet hopeful, but for real ANGST, like sooo much angst, maybe a bit corny, post-breakup Darcy and Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 00:03:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9046316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wand_of_Thunder/pseuds/Wand_of_Thunder
Summary: An accident rips them apart.
An accident brings them back.
Or
Bucky never changed his emergency contact after he ended things with Darcy.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I was working on something else, but couldn't focus until I had this written out. Very loosely based on very personal, real-life events. Something I'm still working through, and writing this kinda helped.
> 
> I feel like I should warn you that this might make you sad. No one dies. But still...
> 
> I won't be offended if you choose to skip this one.

Darcy had been sitting at her vanity, silently staring at her reflection through a half-empty bottle of Jameson and seriously contemplating breaking the only days old and frankly unconvincing vow of sobriety she made with her liver, when the phone rang, the sharp clang of the ringtone jarring her violently out of her insomnia induced trance. Acting mostly from reflex, her hand shot out to grab her phone before she even registered that she should probably answer. It was late, or early depending on personal philosophy, so anyone calling now more than likely had something important to say. She frowned down at the private number before cautiously answering with a poorly stifled yawn and a pathetic “H-hello?”.

“Ms. Darcy Lewis?” A nasally, high pitched voice assaulted her eardrum. Darcy blinked slowly, trying to place the familiar sound to a face, but failed. Her memory was lagging from lack of sleep.

“Yes?” she replied warily. Her stomach felt twisted in knots, her body very much aware that out of the blue phone calls at 4:15AM rarely ever bore good news, but her head was slow in the uptake. A couple months with minimal sleep and enthusiastic drinking can do that to your average, everyday human.

“I’m sorry to wake you, Ms. Lewis. My name is Jolene and I’m a nurse from SHIELD’s Emergency Response team.” A fuzzy memory of ice cold hands and black scrubs triggered in Darcy. She vaguely recalled the nurse being way too upbeat and smiley for a woman that was up to her elbows in blood and viscera on a regular workday. 

“Hi, yeah, uh - I think I remember you,” Darcy unconsciously started rubbing the now faded pink scar that lined her collarbone. It was a habit she picked up when the stitches came out. After a few weeks or so of religiously rubbing bio-oil on it, the angry raised seam had finally begun to recede. Another one or two months and it would be nearly invisible.

“Yes, I treated you not too long ago.” The woman’s voice dropped lower and her words slowed, much like the manner an adult would assume when trying to reassure a lost child. Darcy stomach knots grew worse, like someone was trying to french braid her insides. 

“Ms. Lewis, I’m sorry to have to tell you this. Sergeant Barnes was admitted into the infirmary at 0300 hours after an incident and is currently being treated for head trauma and significant 3rd degree burns.”

Darcy gasped, so blindsided by the message that she inhaled too carelessly and choked slightly on her own spit. Her heart started to quake in her chest, the throbbing of her accelerated pulse filling her ears. It took her a good moment to stop coughing.

“ _ What _ ?” she rasped quietly. 

“His injuries are not life threatening given his enhancements, though he has of yet to regain consciousness. It may take longer than his usual rehab, but he is expected to make a full recovery.” The nurse clearly heard her distress and began to try to ease her alarm, but Darcy struggled to make sense of the words, like she was listening to her underwater.

“But, I don’t…  _ I’m _ not,” Darcy tried again, becoming frustrated at her own voice for sounding so weak and small. This wasn’t fair. 

“Ms. Lewis, we have the world’s best doctors working on his case. I can assure that you he will be okay.”

_ Save your fucking assurance for someone else!  _ she wanted to scream, but her throat wouldn’t cooperate. 

“ _ No,  _ I mean, I’m …  _ glad _ he’ll be okay, but why are you calling  _ me _ ?” She finally managed the words. This wasn’t her job anymore. Clearly, she hadn’t been able to handle the ‘ _ risks and responsibilities’ _ that were part and parcel for dating a superhero. Not that she was bitter or anything.

“Oh, well Ms. Lewis, you  _ are _ listed as his next of kin. If that’s a mistake then-”

Darcy was furious, the kind of wild, senseless anger that stemmed from countless hours of repressed feelings, binge drinking and perpetual tiredness. She was well beyond the realm of reason and self-control. It was a long time coming.

But, luckily for the innocent nurse, she lacked the energy to express said fury and could only sit quietly shaking with impotent rage while she listened to Nurse Jolene carefully explain SHIELD’s emergency contact procedures.

“Ms. Lewis?” Jolene ventured calmly with the air of a woman that had been through similar conversations with shocking regularity. Darcy resented the pity in the other woman’s tone. 

“Yeah, um… thanks for calling,” Darcy managed to bite out through clenched teeth before ending the call and hurling her cell phone at the wall. It hit with an extremely unsatisfying, dull thud before falling to the floor completely unscathed.  _ Fucking Stark tech.  _ She wanted to smash something. The Hulk had nothing on the sudden rage that Darcy felt.

_ How fucking dare he?! _

What kind of sad excuse for a man dumps a woman, but keeps her as his emergency contact? In what  _ universe _ was that alright? 

James “Bucky” Barnes, the man that morphed her into a borderline alcoholic with a psychosomatic eye-twitch, had once again found himself in SHIELD’s emergency department. She hadn’t seen him in  _ months _ , but she could picture him lying in a hospital bed as clear as day; long hair unkempt, skin pallid, looking utterly helpless. Darcy venomously hoped that he was in tremendous pain, and was momentarily, viciously comforted by the fact that heavy duty painkillers had little to no effect on the genetically enhanced man.  _ “He deserves this,” _ her caustic inner voice kept crying, only to be drowned out by a sickening wave of guilt. 

It was bad enough that she was called. What made it worse was that Darcy grotesquely felt it in her bones there was no doubt that she would go to him. She found her body going through the motions, putting her boots on and reaching for her coat out of muscle memory like it was one of the times past where she dropped everything and raced to be at his side. Back when his side was where she belonged.

Infuriated with herself now too, Darcy yanked her coat on over her pajamas, snatched her purse and phone, and dug her car keys out from in between the couch cushions, all the while telling herself that she was only going to set things straight. To remove her fucking name from his fucking emergency fucking contacts, and maybe pause to drink in and savor his pain, before triumphantly returning home to sleep like a baby log.

But Darcy was never great at lying to herself. 

* * *

It started to snow on her drive over to the infirmary, light flakes that clumped to the windshield of her car as she ploughed through the nearly empty city streets, and as she got off the bridge into Midtown, she was aggressively hit in the face with the reminder of CHRISTMAS! A multitude of twinkling lights, last minute sales signs, and cheesey depictions of warm, preposterous family moments inundated the city from all angles. Jolly, unapologetic consumerism assaulted from around every corner like a tacky nightmare. Darcy shuddered.

It wasn’t that she necessarily  _ forgot _ about the holidays, but given her orphan circumstances, rampant depression, and the fact that she hadn’t left her new apartment to go to work in what felt like ages (thanks to Jane spending the season in motherfucking ASGARD), celebrating with loved ones wasn’t exactly on the forefront of her mind.

And now that she thought about it all, despite that she never really was one for the whole “christmas spirit” thing, it made her wistful for a regular,  _ normal _ holiday. Trimming an overpriced tree, scalding her tongue on hot chocolate, falling repeatedly while attempting to ice skate, all at once she longed for the whole corny shebang. Which of course only made her more morose as she gripped the steering wheel with freezing hands and turned into the private garage of the nondescript office building that ensconced the SHIELD medical facility. 

“Evening, Ms Lewis,” the aging and kind, yet discreetly heavily armed guard called out after she presented her ID with the proper clearance, and opened the security gate for Darcy to pull in.

“Thank you,” she replied trying to smile, though her heart wasn’t in it. She still didn’t even have a solid reason for being there, because no matter how hard she tried to convince herself that she was simply there to get her name removed from Barnes’ contacts, it never fully stuck. Sane people did not venture out into a freezing New York winter before dawn, wearing only pajamas and a thrift store coat just to get even with an ex. 

However, of all the things she’d been accused of over the years, sane had never come up.

Darcy swung her midsize car into one of the only unreserved spaces towards the back; Even past 4:45 in the morning SHIELD employees were hard at work. Justice never rested. It was enough to make her nauseous. Well, more nauseous. It took a mini-pep talk to shift into park and actually make her way down to the labyrinth of hallways that lead to the infirmary. She’d hadn’t been there since the  _ incident  _ earlier that summer, and just the garage of the place was enough to bring an unpleasant flood of scattered memories as she called the elevator.

Somehow, a Hydra attack seemed like a fucking picnic in comparison. 

Inside, the facility was bustling as usual. An almost even spread of people dressed in either scrubs, lab coats, or SHIELD uniforms continued about their business like she wasn’t there. The static drone of the overhead speakers calling out codes and paging last names in a clipped male voice accompanied her on the long walk to the center of the hive-like structure. A short, balding man in black scrubs and square-rimmed glasses looked up from the cluttered nurse's workstation as she approached.

“Can I help you?” he asked, sounding as frazzled as she felt. 

“Darcy Lewis,” she supplied, fishing her SHIELD ID out again and handing it over. “My fi-uh…” she paused, the word ‘fiance’ sticking to her tongue like a carpet tack. “James Barnes is injured and I’m his emergency contact.” 

“I’m not sure he is in any condition for receiving visitors, I’ll have to check with my supervisor.”

“Darcy?” A hoarse, warm voice asked from behind her. Leave it to Captain America to save the day.  She spun around.

Steve had definitely seen better days. He was covered in what appeared to be soot, his blonde hair almost entirely grey from it, and had a strip of gauze taped over his left eye like a creepy, discount pirate. Darcy really wanted to hug him then, so badly her chest ached from it. She hadn’t seen the big lug in forever.

_But he’s_ _Bucky’s friend,_ her brain provided cruelly. And clearly his loyalties lay with the man that tore her heart in half and kept a ruined, jagged piece for himself. So, Darcy jammed her hands into her pockets and unconsciously took a fraction of a step away. The resulting frown on his tired, dirty face almost made her cry. She wasn’t prepared for just how badly it would hurt to see Steve again and not have that comforting foundation of friendship. 

“I got a call,” was the only thing she could think to say and she hated herself for it. 

Steve sighed and sort of sank in on himself, looking hauntingly close to his  _ actual _ age for a fleeting second. “That, uh- I’m sorry. That shouldn’t have happened. You know how he is with paperwork. I mean, not that it’s an excuse or-” 

“Steve, it’s okay,” Darcy butted in for both their sakes. “He’s not your responsibility.”

“Or yours,” he replied unthinkingly. Steve winced when her breathing caught audibly in her chest. “I’m sorry, Darcy. I guess I just don’t understand it. You didn’t have to-  _ why  _ did you come?”

Darcy could only offer a shrug in response and hope desperately that she didn’t come across as stupid and small as she felt in that moment. Something in the dull, blue of his one uncovered eye told her she didn’t quite succeed. But he remained silent, standing there in his tattered, filthy uniform, and looking at her with more open, raw concern than she deserved. 

“Can I see him?” she asked finally, breaking the heavy fog of silence with the unsure, almost childish sounding question. It was her turn to wince. She had no clue what the action would accomplish, but suddenly she found that she desperately wanted to see Bucky. No matter how bad it was sure to hurt.

“Of course.” Steve seemed to reach out for her then, as if to grasp her shoulder and offer some semblance of comfort, but caught himself mid action and instead ran his hand compulsively through his hair. Bits of ash fluttered down around him, settling on his shoulders like flakes of snow. 

Part of Darcy wanted to dust him off, a simple, caring gesture that would have come so easily back when she lived in the Tower and he was almost as much as a staple in her life as Bucky. Back when they were  _ family.  _ But the part responsible for her self-preservation made Darcy keep her distance and follow Steve a couple of meters behind as he turned to lead her to Bucky’s bed, the overwrought nurse from earlier all but forgotten. 

With each step, every inch closer to  _ him,  _ the urge to bolt grew and expanded inside Darcy until Steve came to a stop outside one of the glass-walled patient rooms and her entire body was trembling from the effort it took not to turn around and  _ run. _ Make a mad dash for her car and retreat home to the whiskey bottle waiting on her vanity, where she could self-medicate in peace and drown out the devastatingly deja vu feelings until she passed out.

But then Steve was pushing the door open and drawing back the privacy curtains for her, and her fucking feet must have recently developed the capacity for independent thought, because they were carrying her against her will into the dark little room and bringing her to a standstill at the foot of the gurney. 

Her view of the figure lying motionless in the bed was blurred, warbling to point where she could barely make out the outline of a shaggy brunet head or glinting metal left arm. Darcy panicked briefly before a sudden wetness on her cheeks made her realize she was crying. She blinked, and her vision cleared enough to fully regard Bucky. 

Darcy’s heart leapt up to lodge in her throat and she had to stifle a sob. He’d been injured on the job before, in fact so much so it had gotten to the point where Darcy was forced to learn basic emergency room procedures just to keep his stubborn, AMA-hospital-leaving ass from bleeding to death in their living room. But she'd never seen him look this bad. All her anger and resentment, the lingering pain and spite from their breakup, was violently pushed aside by worry and unrelenting guilt. 

_ How could she have ever, even for a second, entertained the idea that he had deserved this? _

Bucky was a mess of bandages and tangled monitor leads, and the metal of his left arm was streaked with wicked, black scorch marks. Like someone had set him on fire. The only scraps of skin that were visible were on his face and neck, which both had a drawn, pallid appearance more befitting of a hospice patient than a robust super soldier. If it weren’t for the steady beeps and normal rhythms of the multiple monitors he was hooked up to, Darcy would’ve been sure he was dead. 

“Oh god,” she whispered, a trembling hand coming up to discreetly wipe at her tearstained face. This time Steve didn’t even hesitate to grip Darcy’s arm in what he hoped was a gesture of solidarity. She turned into his touch, overwhelmingly grateful for the gentle reminder that she wasn’t so  _ alone _ , and buried her face into his ruined uniform as his strong, warm arms encircled her. 

It took a long moment for her to calm the borderline hysterical, emotional storm that was brewing within, using the steady rise and fall of Steve’s chest and the soothing thud of his heartbeat to guide her own body back from the brink of panic. He smelled like smoke, acrid burned rubber, and stale sweat, but Darcy was too exhausted to care. 

“I know how it looks,” he ventured softly once he felt the tension finally start to slowly bleed from Darcy’s body. “But he’s going to be fine.” 

Darcy trusted Steve, but boy was it hard to rationalize  _ fine  _ with the charred corpse-like figure on the bed. She must of made a disbelieving noise in response because he was soon rambling on in an attempt to qualify the statement.

“The bandages are more to prevent infection while his body heals and I guess the doctors are saying that it’s really a kind of a good thing that he stays unconscious during the whole uh… process. Not that I’d really call him “unconscious”; he’s more like  _ hibernating  _ really. I mean -from personal experience- after a significant injury the serum has to work in overdrive so all the energy goes into healing and not-”  Steve cut himself off with a tremendous sigh and a weak shrug that jostled Darcy in his arms. He looked way too tired to go on, and she couldn’t stifle the resulting impulse to mother the huge, bulky blonde.

“Do you have a ride back to the Tower, Steve?” She pulled away to dust off his shoulders and worry at the tears in his uniform, tentative hands searching for cuts or broken bones. He huffed indignantly, but the little smile on his face suggested maybe he missed this as much as she was fast realizing she did too. “You need to get some rest. C’mon, let me call someone for you.”

Steve tolerated Darcy’s poking and prodding, even allowed her to march him towards the door to the hallway, but stopped short before she fully succeeded. She almost face-planted into his chest when he turned around to look at his best friend and partner lying in the hospital bed. “I uh… don’t want him to be alone,” he half whispered, his voice cracking at bit before he cleared his throat thickly. “Hospitals remind him of well…  _ you know _ , and it's probably best that he sees a familiar face when he wakes up, so he knows he's not back  _ there _ again.”

“I can stay,” Darcy found her mouth saying before her brain had a chance to stop it. 

_ You’re not here to stay _ , it tried in vain to remind her.  _ He made it clear he didn’t want you.  _

_ You’re just setting yourself up to be hurt. Again.  _

Maybe it was the look of exhausted relief on Steve’s face, or her own inescapable nurturing nature, or some newly developed masochistic streak. Or maybe it was the goddamn spirit of Christmas moving her to stay like those cheesy Hallmark movies that Jane would never admit that she unironically loved. But Darcy felt  _ something  _ surge through her that gave her the confidence to tell her brain to shut the fuck up and leave her alone for once. 

She could make it through  _ one night _ of sitting by Bucky’s side. She was enough of an adult to do that.  _ Probably. _

“I can’t ask you to do that, Darcy,” Steve replied out of what must have been his unrelenting sense of duty and sacrifice, because the man looked ready to drop any second. 

That cemented Darcy’s resolve. Sacrifice. 

It was almost funny, in a sad sort of irony. The thing that drove Bucky’s life, that made him throw himself into a battle hopelessly outnumbered, and leave the love of his life after she accidentally gets caught in the crossfire; It was the very same thing that made Darcy stay.

“You didn’t. You aren’t,” Darcy swallowed the sigh building up in her chest. “I’m already here. I don’t mind. Go get some sleep, Steve. I’ll call you a car.”

“No, no Sam’s downstairs flirting with the nurses on break. I can catch a ride back with him,”  Steve paused to lean down and press a tender kiss to Darcy’s temple. “Thank you, Darce. I really missed you. We all did.”

And if that didn’t just  _ vaporize _ whatever bits were left of her battered, shredded heart. She hid the new tears behind the curtain of her long hair and shooed the big man out into the hall with soft shove. She didn’t trust her voice not to waver pathetically in any verbal response.

Steve cast one last worried glance at his wounded friend and started off with a tiny little bit more pep in his wearied step. Darcy turned back to go make herself comfortable on the solitary chair at Bucky’s bedside when she heard him add -

“Oh, I almost forgot. Happy Christmas Eve, Darcy.”

* * *

 

Sometime during her silent vigil at Bucky’s hospital bed, Darcy must have fallen asleep - for how long was anyone’s guess. She awoke with a violent start at the sound of someone rustling about the room. It took every ounce of her minuscule grace not to face plant to the floor. She shifted in her chair and grumbled at her clumsiness.

“Sorry to wake you, Ms. Lewis,” a familiar, nasally voice apologized quietly from the other side of Bucky’s bed. Nurse Jolene was bent over her patient, running a dermal thermometer across his forehead. She deftly tapped out the result on the tablet she had tucked under one arm while Darcy regained her balance.

“S’okay,” Darcy croaked, trying to stretch. Her neck ached something fierce from her awkward napping position and she was freezing. She had forgotten how cold and uncomfortable hospitals were. “Everything okay… you know, with him?”

“Temps good, vitals are stable,” Jolene replied, pocketing the thermometer. She drew out a penlight and expertly peeled back Bucky’s eyelid’s to shine the light in his eyes. Darcy had to look away, it skeeved her out. “Pupillary response looks great. He’s about as okay as possible, considering his injuries.”

“That’s uh… that’s great,” Darcy cleared her throat. She felt awkward and gross and kinda just wished this woman would hurry up and leave her alone. “Thank you.”

Jolene nodded and turned to the monitors softly beeping in time with Bucky’s heart. Darcy had managed to mostly tune them out, but looking at them again made the insistent, tinny sound return with a vengeance. The blonde nurse jotted down some more numbers in his chart and made a couple small adjustments. Darcy watched, vaguely interested and feeling mildly guilty for fleetingly wanting the other woman gone. She seemed nice, and was clearly good at her job. No way they’d let her near an Avenger otherwise.

“And how are you doing, Ms. Lewis?” the nurse asked after she finished the vitals check, a sympathetic frown tugging at her mouth. “You seemed rather distressed over the phone. I was surprised to see you here.”

Not wanting to open that particular can of worms in the face of a stranger, no matter how kind or highly trained, Darcy forced her facial muscles into a contrite smile and lied through her teeth. “Yes, sorry. I’m fine. Just had a rough night. Thank you though.” 

“Okay, well if there is anything I can do for you, let me know. And if there are any changes with Sergeant Barnes just hit that call-button on the wall there, and someone will come right over,” the bubbly smile was back on Jolene’s face as she gathered her gear and prepared to leave. “I’ll be back for another vital check in an hour.”

“Thank you,” Darcy said again to the nurse’s retreating back. 

When she was alone, she stood and did a couple yoga stretches. It felt good to move, get her blood pumping back to her frozen toes and fingers. The nap she had taken provided some much needed energy, but now there really wasn’t much to  _ do  _ with any of it. After a few more toe-touches and some arm-circles, she was back to feeling lost.

She picked at the fraying hem of her coat, fidgeted in her chair, opened and closed apps on her cell with no purpose. Anything to avoid focusing on  _ him _ . At this point, she was sure it would be easier if he just woke up and started to push her away again. Stubbornly argue and hem and haw, tell her she should go home. Tell her that what they had wasn’t worth the risk. Because at least then she’d know that he was okay, and not some vegetable laying in a bed for the rest of his life.

All that, those awful words and biting lies of his, she knew she could handle those. She’d heard them all before and lived, albeit miserably and bitter. But this silence and waiting was eating at her. Driving her up the wall and making her mind race. And her mind was certainly not her friend these days.

“What happened?” Darcy asked the room or maybe the universe itself, not quite sure whether she meant what had specifically caused Bucky’s injuries or the more general, pressing question of what had happened to  _ them _ . To that loving, resilient, caring yet mildly dysfunctional relationship they had managed to carve out for themselves, despite their differences and backgrounds and insane work schedules. How a misstep, one little accident, one measly broken collarbone had caused it all to implode.

More silence followed, her only response.

Darcy sighed. It wasn’t like she was expecting any sort of answer. Didn’t make the hollow, echoing feeling hurt any less though.

She drew herself inward, bringing her feet up onto the seat of the chair and wrapping her arms tight around her knees. It was jarring to notice that she still had on her pajamas, the happy little squirrel pattern peering up at her from the soft flannel covering her legs. They were her favorite, a gift from Jane several Christmases ago. Bucky liked them too, she remembered, liked how she looked in them, but mostly liked the texture of the flannel. She had caught him on more than one occasion when they were in bed, him dead asleep with her sleeve or part of the hem clasped in his flesh hand, his fingers worrying little circles into the fabric. 

_ He was always so tactile _ , that damnable brain of hers piped up.  _ Always touching, always reaching for her - her hair, her skin, her clothes. _

Darcy pinched the inside of her arm, hard. The shot of pain did little to stop the flood of memories that came bursting with that nuclear bomb her own brain had unleashed. God, she missed him,  _ them. _ She missed being held, holding him in return. Tears fell heavy and hot down her face, and this time she let them flow unimpeded, a low sob escaping her throat.

“ _ Dee?” _

The quiet, raspy voice was almost drowned out by her crying, and Darcy was sure it had to have been something else; the blood pressure cuff working, a nurse out in the hall, a patient in a different room. Her brain interpreting some other sound as the nickname only he ever called her. But then Bucky stirred, his face grimacing and his natural hand shooting out,  _ reaching _ . 

_ “Dee?”  _ he muttered again, more distressed this time. Almost frantic. His heart-rate kicked up, the monitor beeping in double time. 

Instinctively, Darcy caught his searching hand in her own, and Bucky instantly stilled. His muscles relaxed and his body returned to the eerie, dead-like state from before. His heart-rate slowed back to a calm pulse. Besides his hand, heavy and familiar clutching hers, it was like nothing had even happened.

Except whatever holding her hand did for Bucky, slowly did the trick for Darcy too. Soon she was asleep again, head pillowed on the bed next to his. 

Their hands remained clasped the entire time.

And when Nurse Jolene came back to check Bucky’s vitals, Darcy woke to find his thumb and pointer finger slowly, almost imperceptibly, worrying little circles over the face of one of the squirrels on her pajama cuff.  

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading <3


End file.
